


Bed Him and Get on with It

by KellyDay



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Conversations, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sparring, Vaginal Sex, friendship loyalty truth, respect, slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-23 10:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12505184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KellyDay/pseuds/KellyDay
Summary: Brienne had to talk to someone and it might as well be the Hound.





	1. And What if You Live?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and thanks for writing! You're all inspiring me to write more on this. 
> 
> Big ups to [**8_Auryn_8**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/8_Auryn_8)  
>  for bringing [**We're All Going to Die**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12344685) into this world - because you can't go from zero to sixty (nine) without getting really really real.
> 
> Please go read that if you haven't!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had to talk to someone and it may as well be the Hound.
> 
> OR
> 
> Brie and Sandor have a conversation in the great hall during a feast sometime in the vague future.

 

BRIENNE 

“That wildlings quite taken with you, Tarth.”

 

She stayed quiet, the muscles of her jaw working. “I don’t think that’s any of your concern.” She looked down. “Not that it’s that much of a secret, the way he carries on.”

 

“I don’t care if you both fuck off and die,” he gave a gravely chuckle. “But we’re getting close to the end of our days – you wanna die a maid?”

 

He struck on something that had been nagging at her. She had to talk to someone and it may as well be the Hound. “Wait! “She scrambled up to follow him.

  
“What?” He growled without turning, or slowing down. She followed him all the way to the serving table.

 

“You think because he’s enamored with me that I should throw myself at him?”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He shoveled two chickens onto his plate and shoved it into her hands. “Hold this.” He turned back for a second helping, then headed to a table furthest from the fire. She followed and sat across from him.

 

“Suppose a woman was just… unbidden by you. Your…” She was suddenly re-thinking this tactic as she searched her mind for Sandor’s better features. “Size, your prowess in battle, your… dark wit–”

 

“Get on with it.” He mumbled between bites, glaring at her.

 

“You would jump into bed with her? Even if you don’t feel the same? Even if you don’t even find her appealing? And what if you live?” Her eyes narrowed at him.

 

Sandor had stopped eating, but stayed quiet. He scratched his beard, seeming to mull it over. “I wouldn’t mind a woman I could take anytime without paying.” He shrugged. “To warm my bed, to drink with. And love?”

 

He started to chuckle then, realizing how absurd this all was. “I know fuck all about that shite.” He shook his head. “You r-really…“ He started breathlessly, “Really are a desperate, lonely bitch. Y-You just asked the fucking Hound about love?”

 

He started to laugh so heartily that he wiped a tear from his eye and then she couldn’t help but laugh too. He was right, she was desperate and lonely. And she didn’t want to die a maid.

 

“What are you two laughing about?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the surprise kiss.
> 
> Surprise kisses are a pretty toxic trope, for men to express their feelings in a big gesture. It is problematic.
> 
> But Sandor Clegane is super problematic. Probably more than I could ever write him properly.
> 
> ***
> 
> Thanks for checking it out! Leave no comments unposted :)


	2. Worship at Her Alter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor gets a bad idea.

SANDOR

 

Both turned to see that Tormund had materialized before them. He stood with his arms crossed, frowning at the both of them until their laughs subsided.

 

“It’s nothing.” Sandor coughed and took a swig from his cup. Then he continued tearing into another chicken.

 

Tormund took that as an invitation to stay and sat next to Brienne, but before his ass hit the seat, she stood to take her leave. “See to it that you train with Pod tomorrow, Clegane.” She nodded in his general direction and walked off.

 

The wildling shook his head and brushed a heavy hand across his face. “She seems to like your company.” He sighed through his clenched teeth.

 

“Not really.”

 

“Been working on her a while and you have her _laughing_.”

 

“Yea, well maybe you ought to have a few words with her instead of bloody leering at her all the time.” Sandor spat before emptying his cup.

 

“I know how to get a woman ready…”

 

“You’re a fuckwit.”

 

“You’re just being mean,” gasped Tormund in a way that made him feel the slightest bit of pain in his heart. “Rubbing it in my face…” The wildling looked defeated. “She’s never looked at me like that. Never laughed for me like that. If I were you, I’d–”

 

“I know fuck all about that.” He dismissed the wildling, but knew exactly what he meant. She’d never once flinched at his scars, always sought out his eyes. Something like concern, but without pity just behind her own.

 

“Ah still… I wonder where a woman like that hides her softness... To be the man who gets to find it.” Tormund sighed and offered to fill his cup. Clegane simply nodded in agreement, suddenly struck by a bad idea.

 

***

 

His blood stirred as he stumbled his way out of the great hall. As if he were about to start a fight. Probably will, he thought.

 

Her eyes flashed in his mind again, a memory of when she killed the Hound. They were so full of hate then, haunting his dreams at night. Once he woke with a gasp and found himself cradled in Brother Ray’s arms. His jaw clenched and his fists balled up in his bed roll. “Brienne.” He growled between his teeth.

 

“Ah, she the one who beat you half dead?” The older man’s voice was soft and comforting. “You were a fierce warrior, true? How did she beat you?”

 

Sandor grit his teeth, the question irritating him. “Guess she was the better one that day.” He took a deep breath and let the frustration of that wash over him. He did this to appease the older man, would never admit it worked to calm him. “Most fighters die that way, beat to shit,” he thought aloud. “Suppose I’m lucky she gave me a proper fight.”

 

“Ah, so you see? You respect her, Brienne. Perhaps she was meant to teach you something.”

 

In time, his hate for her transformed to remorse for what he’d done. And as Sandor reflected, he dreamt of her again. This time, she was a kind of god – neither good nor evil. He kneeled under her, accepting his fate all the same.

 

He stood outside Brienne’s door, planting a hand against it to steady himself. What was the wildling even drinking? Before he could give it a second thought, his knuckles rapped against it. He heard rustling and a moment later, she appeared in a heavy robe, presumably readying herself for bed.

 

“Sandor?” He heard her say softly, and he marveled at the sound of it. She squinted at him and crossed her arms. Her hair was brushed back, the warmth of a candle behind her casting a glow around her face. “What is it?”

 

There she was. The closest thing to a god he’d ever believe in.

 

***

 

BRIENNE

 

She looked down at the hairbrush in her hand, turning it to admire the ornate carving on the handle. It was a gift from her father when she became of age, to signify that she would begin to see suitors. Back then, it felt like a curse. _‘Time to put away your toys, girl. This is for proper young ladies.’_ It became a symbol of her obligation to her father and her family.

 

She brushed her hair back, gazing into the looking glass, finding new lines around her eyes. It never bothered her to get older, even though she was made to feel ashamed. _But what did any of that matter now? It’s as the Hound said._

 

 _Oh lords, the Hound! What was I thinking confiding in him?_ Though she had to admit, he was right. What did he – or anyone – know about love? All she knew was that Tormund would love her if she let him. At least, that’s what his eyes begged at her passing glance.

 

For a moment, she mused about what the man would do to please her, lips quirking at the thought of him emptying Pod’s chamber pot every morning. She allowed herself a giggle as she slipped out of the loose shirt she wore under her jerkin. She stepped out of her boots, pulled her trousers off, then scrubbed her hands down her thighs, noticing red bumps on her skin there. Perhaps she wasn’t as suited to the north as she had thought. She turned to inspect the bath for ointments, her eyes catching clouds of steam rising above the hot water.

 

 _Gods, how long has it been?_ It was almost decadent. Betraying the purpose of her duty. _But what did any of that propriety matter now? We’re getting close to the end of our days._ She hurriedly stripped off her underclothes and stepped towards the tub until she heard someone at her door.

 

“What was the wildling even drinking?” She heard a familiar rumble. _The Hound_ , she thought then corrected herself. _Sandor._

 

She pulled on a robe from the foot of the bed, the soft felt warming her. Again, another indulgence courtesy of Winterfell.

 

When she opened the door, her eyes immediately found the tankard in his hand. _Well you would_ have _to be drunk to visit Brienne the beauty, wouldn’t you?_ A dark thought flashed in her mind until she caught herself. “Sandor?” She almost whispered. He blinked slowly at her, lost in thought. _What in the…_ She put her hands on her hips impatiently. “What is it?” She spat.

 

Still with a blank look, his huge hand reached for her and splayed out, warm against her _entire_ stomach, pushing her back gently into her chamber. She let him in as if it were the most natural thing to do. And before she could react, he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to her lips. Again, her body took the lead finding her fingers had somehow laced themselves around the back of his neck. A deep flush overtook body and even at this realization, she just mirrored his soft strokes.

 

It certainly felt good. Unlike anything she’d ever felt. He was strong and sturdy around her and it made her feel delicate. And even though she had used the word earlier, she knew she’d never felt “unbidden” until just now. With this giant of a man who seemed to be devouring her. Whose hand was moving from her stomach, thick fingers tracing slow circles to her hip, tickling her a little. It made her shiver until she realized – _My robe!_ She clutched at his shoulders suddenly and shoved him back against the door. Never daring to look down, she tied the belt tight around her waist. “You shouldn’t have come here. Get out!” She cried.

 

But he did not move. “You’re a hard woman, Tarth… never thought you’d feel so soft,” he murmured. A callused finger smoothed across her cheek and Brienne blushed despite herself. “Ask me and you’ll have me.” It was a challenge.

 

She opened her eyes, never knowing she had closed them and watched a bone in his neck rise and fall. She looked _up_ to his intense gaze and her stomach flipped. “Sandor.” She stiffened as the man smiled. And that’s when she took in his scars – when she suddenly felt very vulnerable and clutched at her nerves. “May I?” Again, in a whisper. He grunted disapprovingly, but stepped back, allowing her to rake her eyes over the tortured skin. It reminded her of fishing with her father, taking along a bucket of roiling worms… She shook the thought away. _That’s terrible, Brienne._ Her eyes landed eventually to the crest of his ear. _Didn’t I–?_

 

She gasped into her hand, reaching out to him with the other. “I–I nearly _killed_ you…”

 

“Aye.” He laughed, but it was humorless. He turned his head and grazed his lips inside her wrist, whiskers scratching her. It made her lose her breath. “Sandor… you’re drunk.” She pulled away. A man had never looked at her as he did now. Like he wanted to ravage her. She remembered then, his face as they fought. It had the same ferocity, but for a different end. Hers, both.

 

“Ask me.”

 

She crossed her arms. “And what if I tell you to fuck off and die?”

 

“Then I fuck off and die.” He laughed softly, his eyes lighting up. _His eyes are… beautiful. Like the man. He’s intimidating, to be sure. But also… beautiful._ She couldn’t help but stare, when a smirk pulled on his lips. “You’re alright, Tarth.” He bowed his head to her and took his leave, Brienne watching him intently the entire time.

 

_Seven. Holy. Hells._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments appreciated, but do be kind.


	3. Seven Holy Hells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne tries to figure out what she wants (really, really wants).

BRIENNE

 

Her heart was pounding in her chest. _What was that!? Was that a dream?_ Her fingers went to her lips, because surely, _they_ had changed. Brienne felt herself smile.

Remembering her bath, she quickly tossed the robe back on her bed. Her body easily sinking down into the water. She held herself with her arms across her chest, knees poking out of the surface. For a long time, just enjoying the comfort it provided as her mind went over what had just happened. She snatched a bar of soap from the edge of the tub, dipping it into the warm water to lather it. Turning it in her hand, she noticed a dire wolf in its cast. Her giddiness died then, and with a heavy sigh, she began scrubbing under her arms.

At the face of it, what Sandor offered her was rather unromantic: to fuck her. _Since we’re all going to die and all_ … She rolled her eyes to herself, memories flashing to similar propositions offered to her by men less honest, less desirable.

And what he did felt so _good_ , unexpected as it was. She took a small cloth to her thighs, careful around the enflamed skin. Then she remembered how gentle and deliberate Sandor had been with her. Kissing him felt almost like fighting with him, each one giving while the other takes. Her body flushed at the thought.

 _‘Ask me.’_ She recalled the sound of his voice, and suddenly gasped. She wondered what he would have done to her if she had let him, if she dared to look at him with the same hunger. And she found herself grasping at her mound in desperation, trying to relieve the tension curling inside her.

 _Of course, she’d thought about what it would be like with Jaime… but this was real._ Real as what Sandor offered her. _And his hands hadn’t been as coarse as his words and maybe… Maybe he would try to please me?_ She imagined his fingers in place of hers, dipping softly into her warmth. Thought of his whisper that still managed to be a growl. _‘You wanna die a maid?’_ “No.” She spoke to herself and imagined him growl again, biting down at her neck and holding her stomach with one big hand. She imagined his big chest against her back, the solid muscles engulfing her. Her breath began shaking. _‘Want me to stop?’_ He rasps, with fingers deep inside her. _‘Ask me.’_ “No.” His strokes were relentless now. _‘Ask me to stop.’_ “No! Don’t ever … Oh gods…”

***

SANDOR

Seven holy hells.

He didn’t know how soft she would feel; how good she would _smell_ … of flesh and sweat. So alive, it overwhelmed him. She kissed him back, all timid at the start but then she seemed to melt into him. And the way she looked at him - had he imagined it?

His heart pounded in his ears like he’d just won a bar fight and he could think of nothing else to do but walk aimlessly through the castle. He wished he could punch something, Tormund’s grinning face flashed in his mind.

He hadn’t thought much about Brienne until the mad wildling tittered on about her beyond the wall. _Beautiful and powerful_ , he’d say. Of the latter, Sandor was sure. But her beauty?

Sandor would struggle to conjure up her face when he’d take himself in hand. Her body was easier. Even wearing armor, he could tell that she was long and lithe. Often, he’d imagine he was pinned down below her, writhing in pain as she took her pleasure. He would end himself quick and hard at the thought and drift off to sleep just as easily – among other bedrolls. It amused him – the thought that the wildling was rustling next to him out of the same need, imagining the same filthy things… about Brienne of fucking Tarth, of all people.

Then he began to dream of her. Fighting. The way she ought to be. Splitting apart one flaming bear after another – who better than his goddess? But then he feels what _she_ does. His muscles scream at him to relent, his fist bound to a lion-headed sword. It gives him strength somehow. He dives into the horde just to be devoured by it. Flaming death. A putrid scent fills his nose and he wakes with a start.

He stopped taking himself to her after that. His goddess had dispensed a sort of justice.

When they met again in King’s Landing, he sensed something change. Distrust melted between them as they discussed Arya. She looked on him with respect and he regarded her the same. And because he finally could, he looked at her face.

“You are the one they call Sandor Clegane.” A young bronzed woman he knew as Missandei stood before him, council for the dragon queen. Among themselves, men would often make insinuations about the queen and her adviser. But he knew better than to cross a powerful woman. He had scars to prove it, and at the thought that Brienne had marked him, his mood lightened.

“Aye.”

“There are simple cures for restlessness, Clegane.” She nodded away. “You’ve seen many years–”

“Aye.” he laughed. “I’m an old dog. I ought to find a kitchen maid looking for coin, but…” He stopped himself being so candid. Where was his mind?

“You love a woman?” She broke his thoughts.

“I know fuck all about that.”

“I do.” She said simply, with a knowing smile. She was lovely, and straight away, he knew what her past must have been. Women like her were paid to be whatever a man desired.

“What happens in a whore’s bed – that is not love.”

“I have known love and I assure you, you’re wrong.” She laughed softly. “And in the brothels, there is _indeed_ love. It takes love to take a man as he is; To look upon him honestly and see what is beautiful and what is ugly and give of yourself anyway.” She looked at his face, right at his scars. Her face blank, but not unsympathetic.

“I’m sorry.” he muttered after a while. He took a deep breath, resigned. “How do I please her?”

The young woman seemed to brighten at that, smiling at him broadly. “You must cherish this person.” She took his hand into hers, the gesture instantly calming him. “So, ask what she desires.”

“Suppose she doesn’t know?” He shrugged. She pulled him into a wall and guided his hand down to her, below her stomach and to her mound. He stepped back without removing his hand, it felt too good, too soft.

“Ask me.” She whispered, and his lips quirked at the command.

“What do you desire, Missandei of Naarth?” Drawing it out, almost snarling, knowing now the effect it had on him to be called by a name that fit. She pushed his middle finger down a small cleft and he watched her close her eyes in approval. She nodded for him to continue, as he explored a bud of flesh, noticing the way her body jumped at his caresses.

“Slowly,” she looked into his eyes again, and then pulled his hand up into hers. “You must cherish this person.” She said again and pushed him away lightly. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Time is precious, Clegane.”

“Aye.”

***

 _Definitely_ no sleep tonight.

Sandor pulled on his furs and headed to the battlements. For once, the winds relented, and the north shone in all her splendor. Steam from the hot springs rose to an ocean of stars, shimmering against the infinite blackness over Winterfell.

Time is precious, _indeed_. It changed everyone in different ways, knowing their end was near. People drowning in their cups, drowning in their work. Even what Missandei had just done seemed sensible in these times. And it left him to consider what else she said.

 _Ask her what she desires._ He gritted his teeth, remembering the bloody dragon pit where she’d spoken to Jaime fucking Lannister. From afar, he watched the way Brienne’s eyes seemed to drink him in, heard the desperation in her voice when she called after him. She shouted, “Oh, fuck loyalty!” And Lannister just turned his back to her. Didn’t he realize what that meant?

Something caught in Sandor’s throat, as he made a realization of his own. Brienne is just another miserable survivor caught up in this mess. Just like him. He’d foolishly offered himself to the Maid of Tarth as if he had anything she would ever want.

‘Sandor.’ It was Brienne’s voice, haunting him. He decided that if she _did_ summon him, he would do right by her.

“Sandor.”

“Yes, Brienne.” He turned slowly, fearing it was a dream. When she appeared there in flesh, he held his breath. Had she always been this stunning? When the hound had beaten his fists into her face, had he known? He pulled his furs tighter, feeling more naked than he’d ever felt.

***

BRIENNE

 

“I’m _asking_ you.” Brienne clenched her jaw, fixing her eyes to his. _No turning back, now._

“Brave as ever.” Sandor rasped, taking a moment to study her. He leaned against a stone parapet with his arms crossed, looking almost smug. “What do you _desire,_ Brienne of Tarth?”

“I don’t mean _right now,”_ she huffed, but she really _had_ meant it at one point. Her eyes fell to his mouth, remembering the secret hidden there. She wondered what his kisses would feel like moving down her body, how his beard would feel against her skin. She bit her lip, trying to hold back.

“Haven’t got much time.” He took her hand, pulling her closer. She wondered why she let him, until she heard him say, “What do you _desire_ , Brienne?” It was a low rumble that woke something animal at her core, and at that all her poise disappeared. She lunged at him, bumping her teeth against his, awkwardly, before claiming his lips. She felt his fingers wrap around her wrists and slowly, he turned away. “I won’t take you, Brienne.” He was even quieter now. He seemed to _purr_. “You’ll tell me what you desire.”

She looked around self-consciously, though she knew they were alone. His grip even tighter now, as if to keep her from running away. “I’ve dreamt of you… _kissing_ me.” She bit her lip at the sound of it. She should have run away. _This is mad._

He nodded for her to go on then began to lavish her neck with his lips, tongue, and teeth. Moisture pooled between her leg as she heaved. “ _All_ of me,” she whimpered.

Suddenly, his hands were around her. He spun her around, switching their places with Brienne pressed against the wall. He returned to her neck, running his teeth against her skin, testing her tolerance, sending shocks of pleasure down her body. It was all she could do not to scream, her body hummed for more. And out of instinct, she stroked herself through her clothes.

Sandor made a pleased sound, pulling her hands away. She sighed in frustration, until she found him kneeling before her. “Breeches,” she heard him say, a slight chuckle in his voice. She felt a tinge of shame until she felt him grab the laces and pull them down in one movement, to her thighs. Just a quickly, he buried his face into her mound, stroking her legs as he did. Nothing between his nose and her woman’s place but the thin veil of her underclothes. Despite her exposure to the northern cold, she burned as he breathed against her skin.

“Sandor, _please_.” She begged and was soon rewarded as he lifted her thigh to his shoulder and ripped away her underclothes. Without warning, he delved deep into her, sending a shock of pleasure to her core. Her body shuddered, and he made a noise that made her shake again.

She anticipated her peak until he slowed painfully. She mewled in disappointment, grabbing at his hair between her thighs. She felt his hands tighten around her hips, darting his tongue at the swollen bundle at the crest of her folds. Brienne bucked against him as he teased her faster, holding on as her whole body quaked. She cried out, gasping uncontrollably.

When she caught her breath, Brienne tried to stand but stumbled, opting instead to lean against the stone again. Wordlessly, Sandor helped her tie up her breeches, leaving his hand on her side for support. He kissed her again, allowing her to taste herself on his tongue. “Tomorrow, we spar.” He purred to her again, grabbing her ass with one large paw. “And you tell me what else you want.” Then all at once, he let her go.

When she could finally speak, she told him she’d look forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word on, “Oh, fuck loyalty!”
> 
> This is at complete odds with the Brienne we know and love. She is a paragon of a honor and loyalty - a true knight. But the fight between the living and the dead is so much bigger than the game of thrones, that she says, “FUCK LOYALTY!” in order to punctuate her point.
> 
> I like to think Sandor watched that and it registers that he’s only begun to plumb her depths (wink). That maybe there was more to Brienne than being a stupid goody-goody – that she would sacrifice whatever it took to protect the ones she loves, even loyalty. I like to think this is when Sandor falls in love with her as a person.
> 
> He starts to root for her and realizes like, wtf I just offered myself up to this real, ass-kicking lady, this big bitch that almost killed me. What have I gotten myself into?
> 
> Anyway, she practically begs Jaime to join their fight because it’s more important, but also I think, a little selfishly so she could keep an eye on him. But he’s still so full on about Cersei and just lets Brienne go. What a goofus!
> 
> ***  
> As always, leave no comment unposted :)


	4. Do you want more?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It embarrassed her to be so wanton, and she quietly admonished herself. But this man had somehow awoken some kind of beast inside her that begged to be satisfied.

BRIENNE

She pretended she couldn’t see him watching from across the training yard, trying to focus on Pod’s morning drills. Though it did prove to be a challenge, as Sandor braced himself against a ceiling beam to stretch, shirtless. He was all scars and knotted muscles under dark curls of hair. Her eyes followed the path down the flat planes of his stomach, to his breeches and then the bulge there. And her mouth began to water.

“-and then I’d strike from behind!” Her attention snapped back to Pod quickly, his maddeningly innocent face looking up at her expectantly for an answer.

“Uh… yes.” She replied slowly, kicking herself for being so distracted. Pod seemed satisfied with her answer and moved on to work practice his footing.

Brienne woke that morning with a soreness on her woman’s place, which she reasoned had come from Sandor’s rough beard _rubbing_ on her delicate skin. The thought had excited her and for the second time she finished herself while thinking of him. It embarrassed her to be so wanton, quietly admonishing herself for it after. But this man had somehow awoken some kind of beast inside her that begged to be satisfied. Even now, as she felt his eyes on her. _Especially_ , now.

When she turned back to him, he answered her with a small, smug grin. _It’s as if he read my mind!_ She shook her head. This won’t do. They were training for the biggest battle of their lives. _And now he’s over there… adjusting his_ balls, _looking straight at me! Taunting me!_ She gritted her teeth, steeling herself. She couldn’t just fuck him in the middle of the training yard, could she? So she would do the next best thing. She wanted to beat the _shit_ out of him.

“Are you here to fight or to watch?” She called out to Sandor, coolly. Pod turned to her, brows furrowed.

“My lady, perhaps we shouldn’t make the hound angry,” he muttered, then cringed at the sound of the man’s rough laugh in response.

“His name is Sandor, Pod. I _killed_ the hound.” She squared her jaw and stepped in front of him.

Sandor approached her swift and steady, his sword already in his hand.

Her body took over. It felt so familiar… it was the same fight. _Their_ fight. At that she grinned and took him by surprise. Kicking him away before he could punch her in the jaw. A grin broke out on his face and he adjusted his footing. After all these years, still well matched.

They started again. This time, exchanging quick blows before finally meeting each other’s eyes across their clashed swords.

“What do you desire, Brienne?” He taunted.

“What do _you_ desire, Sandor?” She spit back at him, dodging as he just missed her ribs with his knee. “ _Why_ are you doing this?” She broke off, shaking her shoulders loose. _Don’t feel sorry for me,_ she begged in her mind. _Don’t say because I’m a maid._

“I want to see if we’ll fuck like we fight,” he said flatly. “Don’t you?”

She opened her mouth, but said nothing, dumbfounded. He charged at her again, sword first. And instead of retreating, she stepped into him, cracking him lightly in the forehead with her pommel. Sandor growled at the impact.

“I’m offering myself to you, Brienne. I’m only good for a few things.” He shrugged.

She twisted her sword against his and punched his elbow, releasing his sword in her grasp. “Come to the baths with me later.” She said to him evenly, standing with both blades poised against him. “I hope you’re better at fucking than you are at fighting.”

***

The two sparred for nearly an hour, breaking off only to catch their breaths. Then one would antagonize the other and it would begin all over again. Pod tried his best to join in, but Sandor easily kicked him aside, knocking the wind out of him to get to his charge. Only when they both collapsed did the sparring end. And the three made their way to a well near the godswood.

“What’s it like fighting the dead?” She asked him after draining her water skin. Sandor’s eyes grew wide at her but he kept quiet. What was there to say? Fighting the dead had been so frightening that Sandor offered her his body as a strange means of atonement.

“Pardon me, my lord, my lady,” a handmaid appeared and bowed at the both.

“I’m no bloody lord.” Sandor grumbled, a tired bark that still managed to startle both Pod and the young girl.

“H-her Grace Lady Stark has called for th-the both of you.” The young girl’s eyes darted away.

“You’re to meet at her council’s chambers when you’re… _presentable_.”

 

They both looked at each other then, bedraggled and sporting new cuts and bruises, smelling of dirt and sweat. When they caught one another’s eyes, the began to laugh. That seemed to frighten the girl even more. “Yes, I suppose we should visit the hot springs.”

“Go tell them we might be a while.” He winked at Pod and then stalked off to one of the servants. Brienne felt her face flush and she turned away, letting Pod take his leave.

***

The handmaid returned in her furs and lead them to a cave at the edge of the godswood, a clearing next to some petrified soldier pines. The girl lit the braziers for them and left linens for drying off. Sandor whispered something to the girl before handing her a gold coin to send her on her way.

Brienne wasted no time discarding her furs and kicking off her boots before padding over to the edge of the water. A thick carpet of steam covered the clear blue pool, the walls of the cave sparkling in the firelight. She idly fingered the laces of her tunic, before feeling his gaze on her again. She wondered what he would do if she undressed for him. And before she could stop herself, she unlaced her tunic and pulled it off her shoulders, twisting her head around to him before dropping it onto the ground.

He watched her hungrily, and suddenly his massive hands were at her hips. “Your so strong… Makes me want to get rough with you,” He whispered into her neck while as his hands stroked up her sides to her breasts, squeezing and them. “I know you can take it.”

“I can take it!” She hissed without thinking. And he grunted approvingly and rolled her pert nipples between his fingers, making her squirm. She heard a throaty moan, the most erotic sound… and she realized it had escaped her lips.

“There she is,” he growled, squeezing harder. And she started to gasp, whimpering again for more. One hand reached down her trousers, into her soaked small clothes. She shivered, her backside grinding against his hot, hard length. “Feel that? Is that what you want?” His voice rumbled and she felt herself clamp around his fingers.

“Yes!” She sobbed, her lips just touching the shell of his good ear. She felt him groan from deep in his chest. And because she couldn’t take it anymore, she clawed at the laces of his breeches. He smirked and pulled them down, the fabric catching fleetingly on the head of his massive cock before dropping to the ground between them.

And he held her as he did before, her ass against his hips again but her her naked sex enveloping his cock in her moist heat. He slowly rubbed himself against her opening, teasing her bud with one hand.

“Gods, Sandor. Yes… _please_.” She plead with him, her body throbbing in anticipation.

He buried himself inside her in one sure thrust, moaning as he pulled back and did it again. The familiar sensation of being stretched gave way to a sharp, tearing pain that shot through her and she clawed at Sandor’s thighs, pulling on the curls of hair there.

“Fuck!” He rasped between his teeth as he held her hips tighter. He set a slow pace, marking her neck and with deep, rolling kisses as he pushed into her deeper. She ran her fingers over whatever she could touch, overwhelmed by the steady rock of his body. He braced her her arms behind her with one hand and with his other, traced his fingers over her wetness, rubbing in time with his thrusts.

It was too much! Her heart raced, desperate to reach a something she didn’t yet know and she begged him not to stop. But too soon, he cried out her name between ragged breaths, and gave her his last hard thrusts while her body pulsed around him. And they collapsed to the ground panting, entirely fucking spent.

***

“I dreamt about you once. We would fight… and no matter how hard I try, you would always win. You’d push me off that cliff over and over again.” He smiled to himself, worrying his bottom lip.

They both sat in the hot springs, Sandor holding her against his chest. She stared in awe of how ordinary his mouth had looked despite giving her so much pleasure. “That sounds awful.”

“Aye.”

“How could you stand to be around me?!” She said, incredulous. Even now, as he caressed her gently under water.

“A friend told me I ought to respect you.”

“Do you?” She blurted out.

His eyes darkened then, pulling her so close their noses almost touched, and she could feel his breath. “Don’t be a dumb bitch. I’m a godless man and I worship at your fucking alter.”

She regarded him a moment, then inched her chin up to give him a chaste kiss. “Is that what we’re calling what we just did?”

“Aye, if you like.” Sandor chuckled.

“Sandor,” She stopped him, hands on his chest. “I’m sorry I bit off your ear.” She plead regretfully, though she had meant to apologize for more.

He pulled her closer to kiss her deeper. When the two had finished bathing, they wrapped themselves in furs and headed back to the guest quarters. But before he broke off for his chamber, he lifted her chin with one finger and mumbled sorrowfully. “I’m sorry I pummeled your face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Brienne and Sandor isn’t “I love you” “I love you, too.” 
> 
> It is “I’m sorry I bit off your ear” “I’m sorry I pummeled your face.”
> 
> It crossed my mind that Sandor could apologize for kicking Brienne in the cunt, but that seemed a little out of place. 
> 
> ***
> 
> Extra Credit:  
> Do You Want More?! by hip hop band the Roots uses bagpipes throughout. The results are as expected.
> 
> ***
> 
> As always, let no comments go unposted!


	5. Kill the Hound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor had expected something like this from the little wolf bitch – knew she would leave Winterfell eventually to finish that list of hers.

Brienne waited for him at the stairs to the council’s hall, back in her tunic that covered almost every bit of her skin. I wonder where a woman like that hides her softness, he remembered Tormund’s words. He laughed at that. He knew.

 

“Close your mouth before you start drooling.” She smirked as he approached.

They climbed the stairs side by side, knuckles brushing every so often. He thought about taking her hand, but thought better of it. That’s when he noticed that she was without her usual shadow. “Where’s your whelp?”

“Pod said it was a family matter, but they’ve asked for both of us,” she shrugged. “Perhaps it’s about Lady Arya.”

 

Of course. Sandor had expected something like this from the little wolf bitch – knew she would leave Winterfell eventually to finish that bloody list of hers. He’d always worry for Arya’s life despite whatever twisted education she’d acquired with the faceless men. But he also knew there was no stopping her.

 

It would seem, however, that her own family hadn’t seen this coming. He and Brienne heard the quarreling long before they had even reached the war table.

 

“I’m not a little girl!” Arya yelled, a high screech that betrayed her words. They rounded the corner to the Starks’ sullen faces, all standing around the war table helpless to the girl’s outrage. Sandor had gotten used to seeing the dragon queen by Jon’s side, but for this matter Bran took her usual place. The boy barely spoke, lost to the three-eyed crow. Which he could barely explain like so many things, lately.

 

Brienne stepped in quietly and took her place by Lady Sansa’s side. “Arya, you can’t just leave,” she begged. “We’ve just taken back our home!”

 

“And I had nothing to do with it!” Arya slammed a hand to the table hard, wooden figures rattled threatening to topple over. “Sansa, you’ll take care of the North and Jon will fight the army of the dead with the dragon queen. I’m the only one who can do this! Just let me!”

 

Then Lady Stark looked straight into his eyes in a silent plea. It reminded him of the helpless girl from the Red Keep, a shadow of the woman that stood before him now. His eyes shifted to Brienne, who peered at him and nodded, her arm caught in Sansa’s claws. She stood solidly, her jaw set and brow furrowed, determined to be strong. The sight warmed his heart, glad for the Queen in the North that she’d finally gotten her true knight. And before he could regret it, Sandor spoke, prepared to do the honorable thing as Brienne of Tarth would do.

 

“I’ll take her to Cersei.” Sandor interjected. “I’ve unfinished business there, besides.”

 

“No one asked you, dog!” Arya’s tone was so hateful. It irritated him how easily she could work at his nerves.

 

“Fine!” He spat, sneering at her as menacingly as he could muster. “See how long you last against my monster of a brother.” Sandor crossed his arms, glaring at her.

 

“I’ll bring you his fucking head.”

 

“Arya, that’s enough!” Jon shouted. “Clegane, you will go with her. You’ll leave as soon as you can, so I suggest you prepare.”

 

“Thank you, Sandor.” Sansa nodded on.

 

The wolf bitch looked on him thoughtfully and then simply smiled at him. It was unnerving.

 

***

 

After he’d been dismissed, he returned to his chambers to realize that everything he owned could fit in a saddle bag, and that much of what he’d need for the journey could be arranged by the quartermaster. So he sat at a small table and drank wine.

 

Though his tolerance had waned from his days at the Red Keep and he quickly passed out after emptying his first bottle.

 

Sandor jumped awake to a steady knock at the door, unaware of how long he’d been out. He scrambled to open the door, pleased to see it was Brienne on the other side. He walked back to the table beckoning for her to follow, opening another bottle before she closed the door.

 

“That was very kind, what you did.” She finally spoke, sitting across from him.

 

“Didn’t I tell you I’m only good for a few things?” He took a swig and offered her a cup. Her eyes flitted down to it for an instant, opting instead to grab the bottle from him and drink.

 

“Aye, lass.” He slapped his knee, laughing. “Drink like it’s the end of days.”

“Aye.” She rasped, mockingly. “Is this what you’re doing, then, to prepare against your brother? Drinking yourself numb?”

She was right. It wouldn’t do to go back to his old ways, though he really didn’t know how else to occupy his time. “Might be, you can find something else for me do?” He reached for her under the table, stroking her knee. “You have something in mind?”

“I-I don’t know.” She blushed. “I’ve never done any of this before.”

“Aye, you’re the Maid of Tarth… Well, you  _were_.” He chuckled. “If it helps, I’ve never done this either.”

“Sure,” she scoffed. “Sandor, I’m not stupid. I know you’ve had lots of women–”

“Lots of whores.” He said matter-of-factly. “Never with someone like you.”

“Oh.” She paused, taken aback. “Well… now that you’ve…  _indulged_  me, it seems only fair that I ask…”

“Get on with it.”

“What do you desire Sandor Clegane?”

He squinted at her for a moment, and then as casually as he would ask for a cup of wine replied, “I want you to hold me down.”

“And do what, exactly?”

“Whatever you want.” He shrugged. “Piss on me, beat me. Make yourself come on my cock over and over until we’re both spent.”

 

She stood, taking one last swig from the bottle before leading him to his bed, discarding clothes as they went. She pushed him roughly onto the mattress before climbing over him, and balanced herself above his already rigid cock. She surrounded him in her moist heat before sinking down to take him all in. His thick fingers moved over her hips and a thumb brushed roughly against her swollen bud. She was so slick and tight, he couldn’t help but thrust into her, grinding into a spot that made her moan. She pushed his arms back, pinning his hands over his head, her eyes fixed to his until she started to fuck him in earnest. She rocked herself steadily above him, slow and deep.

 

“Yes, that’s it.” He growled. It was better than he could have imagined, her small tits bouncing in his face, begging him to take a bite. When he did, she ground against him faster, as though she couldn’t get enough. And she wailed in the most erotic way that made him growl back at her. His muscles strained as he pounded into her, struggling under the grip of her thighs that had him rooted into the bed. “Sandor!” She gasped, suddenly letting go of his wrists and collapsing on top of him. Her cunt squeezed around him rhythmically and Sandor stopped his thrusts to feel it along with her. When he felt her muscles slow, he began again. It only took her a few strokes to unravel, and then he couldn’t help but come with her.

 

***

 

Brienne lay beside him with her cheek pressed to his chest, petting the fur that trailed down his stomach. He threaded his thick fingers through her hair, stroking her face as he did. He wondered distantly if this is what it was like to have a wife.

 

“Lady Sansa said you offered to take her north the night you fled King’s Landing.”

 

“Aye.” Sandor said flatly. For years, that night had been his greatest shame and before he could think better of it, he told her the truth. “My intentions weren’t pure, Tarth. Believe me.” He fought to keep his voice steady, unsure of how she would react. “She was just so bloody helpless.” He chuckled madly. “No will but to obey every man around her, the object of their attention and neglect, their lust, their manipulation.”

 

Her hand froze over his heart. “B-but you never hurt her.” A hitch in her voice.

 

“No, but that night… I wanted to. I won’t have you think I’m some true knight.” And to make his point, he slid his hand down her back, dipping his middle finger into the cleft of her ass.

 

Her body wiggled beneath him. “Well you’re certainly not that.” She snorted. It was such a curious sound. He might have thought he'd imagined it if she hadn’t gazed up at him, smiling broadly.

 

“What I’ve found is that you’re a better man than most.” She moved his hand to her hip, where it stayed.

 

“And I've got a massive cock!” He waggled his eyebrows at her and she snorted again. A curious feeling tightening his chest.

 

“Thank you, Sandor.” She murmured as she sat up, back to him as she put on her tunic. Thank you, she said. As if she hadn’t just done him the biggest favor and fucked him good and hard before they both went off to die.

 

“Brienne.” He grabbed her hand before she could stand up. “If I'm a better man, it's because you killed the hound.”

 

***

 

BRIENNE

 

She couldn’t face him when she heard his words. Something about them twisting in her gut. That they came from this man, who was never prone to vows or declarations. That she’d just found so much pleasure with him. That they both had duties to return to as soon as they left this room. It seemed almost fitting that the moment something good found Brienne that fate would step in and yank it away. A sudden knock at the door pulled her out of the moment, and without regarding him, she pulled on her trousers and boots to answer the door.

 

 _Shit!_ It was Pod. She pushed him back, and stepping out into the hallway.

 

“My lady?” Pod seemed startled.

 

“Pod, I… I was just having a drink with San- Clegane, and…” She stammered, but quickly gave up her ruse. “Pod, I trust that you will treat this matter with discretion.” She nodded to him curtly.

 

He nodded, but failed to hold back a snicker. “I’ll do my best, but I think it’s a bit late for that, my lady. The whole castle might’ve heard you.” Pod looked at her with a kind of adoration, ample-cheeked and bright-eyed as ever.

 

Brienne looked at her boots, feeling even more embarrassed. “I… I apologize you had–”

 

“Apologize? My lady, I couldn’t be happier… er… that is, knowing you are happy.”

 

“Ugh, can you just pretend you don’t know anything?!.” She chided, but took a breath. “So you’re happy for me?”

 

“Of course, my lady.” He smiled broadly.

 

“If you think this means I’m going to take it easy on you now, you’re wrong.”

 

“I would expect nothing else, my lady.”

 

She nodded to him approvingly before moving on. “What do you think of it, Lady Arya heading South? It’s unlikely she will return, though our odds are no different.”

 

Pod’s eyebrows furrowed, becoming somber. “Ar- The lady… always knew this was her path. And now she can leave in peace, knowing the North is in capable hands.” His voice was a croak as his shaky hand reached for hers.

 

And then she knew what he meant to do. The thought never occurred to her that Pod would ever leave the North. The boy had quickly advanced under Winterfell’s strong allies – the greatest fighters of the realm. Before that, though, Pod had always been a loyal and kind friend. A long moment passed with Brienne contemplating his words.

 

“Why, Pod?” It was all she could say, though she already knew the answer.

 

“You’ve always taught me to be loyal and true. To follow my heart. I believe my place is with Lady Arya.”

 

“Well, fuck!” She exclaimed with wide eyes. “I suppose I can’t talk you out of that.” She couldn’t help the guileless smile she gave him. “You’ll take care of Lady Arya.”

 

“She will take care of me.” Helaughed. “I’ll only keep her company, stay out of her way.” He bowed his head. “It’s been an honor, my lady.”

 

“My greatest, Pod.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After many many re-writes, this new chapter comes to you all with a tiny bit of plot. Thanks so much for reading and keeping me inspired.


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